S Italy, a Complicated Man
by labrat love
Summary: Romano was never quite as good with words as his brother, and it bothered him more than it bothered the people he loved. A one-shot, both names and nations used.


**Well Hi, it's Ratty again. Yes I know it's been a very long time since I've posted anything… if you want to know more check out my ****updated ****profile. I know this isn't my usual fandom. But I was recently introduced to this series and I quite enjoy it… as usual I own nothing.**

Romano Lovino Vargas was a complicated man with complicated relationships.

There were only two people in the world he could say he loved with any kind of certainly and even then he couldn't figure out how to say it.

It began with his fratello, his stupid little brother. He loved his brother, because that was what was right. Even when they were separated before they got a chance to get to really know each other, he still carried his love for his brother.

He was given to Spain a nation of seemingly endless patients.

Spain was not used to having a charge however and treated him more as a pet than a young nation to be raised. He was doted on and spoiled; Spain made every attempt to capture his affections. He always got the best tomatoes. He was snuck sips of wine. Antonio would sing him lullabies at bedtime and tell him stories of the great Conquistadors before trying to cuddle the small nation into his chest to sleep.

Romano had never been good with words, not like his winsome little brother. He was not really good at much if he were being honest with himself, so he lashed out. He called Antonio names and botched his chores. He had no idea how to thank the other nation or tell him that he really did love him for everything he did.

He could not understand how Spain could just smile and sigh "Mi Amor" when he came to him with tears in his eyes and wet bed sheets again. How he would still insist on rocking Romano to sleep even though he knew it would leave him bruised and insulted. Why Antonio would take him in his lap look him in the eyes and tell him very seriously that he would always be there for him no matter what happened or what he did. Romano had no idea how to respond to such unconditional love, so he sulked.

When he was finally old enough to care for himself [and his brother as well] he was sent home. There he was met with more unwavering affection. Feliciano was able to adjust instantly to his brother's arrival; he wasn't even sore with him for the times Romano bullied him when they were young. His brother would call him Lovi, cook for him and babble endlessly about anything that floated through his head.

Romano actually found it hard to be truly annoyed with is brother. Feliciano might have been more capable, but he was certainly more hapless. Romano finally understood how Spain had felt. When Feliciano came to him bawling about something or another he could not help but pull his brother onto his lap and sing him Spanish lullabies until the sniffling stopped.

He would never admit to the glow of pride he felt when Feliciano curled around him after a nightmare certain his big brother would keep the monsters away. He loved how his brother looked up to him and relied on him to be the tough one.

But his problem still followed him. He couldn't tell his brother how much he meant to him. How he would take care of him no matter what how he would fight whatever flight instinct he had to rescue him from harm, so Romano kept quiet.

The real trouble started when he began to notice the quiet in the house, and how often the other side of the bed was empty. His brother had found a friend, a friend that was not him. Romano knew he was outmatched when he met Germany. Other nations were actually legitimately afraid of Germany. France was uneasy around Germany. Hell HE was uneasy around Germany, but he couldn't let Feliciano see nor could he back down. He fell back on his old tactic; he lashed out. Ludwig stood and listened to his entire tirade before sighing and going back to work. Romano could have killed him right there for his tolerance.

It wasn't fair, he was the older brother, it was his job to take care of his fratello through thick and thin. He was supposed to be the one to smile and nod when Feliciano whispered stories to him before he fell asleep, not some blond-haired-blue-eyed pretty boy. As far as Romano was concerned no one was going to be good enough for his brother.

He was miserably alone for the next few weeks. He couldn't even face his Feliciano when the other boy did come home. He was ashamed; he couldn't even take care of his own brother. What would Grandpa Rome have thought?

One night after a little too much wine he found himself on Spain's doorstep. A foggy part of his brain wondered if Antonio would still take care of him after all these years. He hadn't even knocked and Spain had known he was there. Romano stood in awkward silence.

It was not like he had cut all ties with Spain when he left, but he hadn't really been as eager to be around him. Usually their interactions would be for commerce and Antonio would try to get personal.

You have gotten so big and so handsome Mi Amor...come and have a drink with your old friend once in a while...I will save the best tomatoes for you if you come by...But he never succeeded in coaxing his friend over.

Antonio faltered only momentarily, taken aback by Romano's sudden appearance.

"Mi Amor" he breathed and ushered his friend inside. Romano had sobered slightly on his walk, but was still drunk enough not to protest when he was maneuvered onto the couch and pulled against Antonio's chest in an all to familiar way.

"Feliciano." Was all he managed to say through the tears that had started to fall.

"Si, si." Antonio soothed as he kissed his temple and began Romano's favorite lullaby. When the song was through and Romano's eyes were dryer he pulled his friend in tighter and whispered into his chest

"Mille Grazie"


End file.
